Crash
by Louise Hargadon
Summary: TAG2015. A collection of viewpoints from key characters directly involved with the aftermath of That Moment in SOS Part 2, starting with John, then moving on to Virgil and Scott. Gigantic spoilers for SOS Parts 1 and 2, so if you haven't seen them yet, please catch up first.
1. John

_**A/N:** This is the first time in about four years I've even attempted to write anything longer than a oneshot. So... good luck, me. I'm not 100% sure exactly what order to write these in, or even which points of view to use, so honestly, any feedback on whose viewpoint you'd like to read next is more than welcome. Yes, it's a cheap ruse to try and get reviews - and no, I have no shame!_

_I'm still reeling from Saturday's episode. My poor **Gordon**. I'm sure he'll get well soon, he just needs some good home-cooking from **Grandma**, and lots of TLC from a certain aristocratic It Girl...! And yes, I'm quite sure I'll be writing extensively about that too!_

_**Disclaimer: Thunderbirds Are Go!** isn't mine. But my love for Gordon Tracy is all mine and never-ending. I've lifted a few lines of dialogue from the episode **SOS Part 2** for timeline references, but they'll all be italicised so you know which bits they are! _

**Crash**

**Part One: John**

_"Gordon, you've activated your emergency code."_

Of course he'd activated his emergency code. It isn't something that you can do by accident. At first, the detached part of my brain decided he'd run into a little trouble, but was quite safe otherwise. Perhaps the emergency code had been activated prematurely. My little brother has always been one for unnecessary dramatics, since the day he did a double backward somersault as he fell out of his treehouse back at the farm in Kansas. I expected to hear an embarrassed giggle and an apology. "Sorry Johnny, guess I got so excited I came too soon!" or something equally innuendo-filled and flippant.

Instead, there was only silence.

_"Gordon?"_

I refused to believe that he was really in trouble. This is Gordon. Gordon Tracy. He is practically an amphibian, the amount of time he spends between water and land. In fact, there have been several occasions in his life when I've wondered if he isn't actually part toad. Gordon wouldn't really be in trouble, not in water, I told myself. Water is his home. I never feel safe unless he's surrounded by the stuff. The ocean is to him as the stars are to me. Our natural habitats. Although we're literally atmospheres away, our love for the stars and the sea is what has always bound us together, in a strange way that makes sense to nobody but us. The object of our love may be vastly different, but the intensity of our love is exactly the same. There have been so many occasions when Gordon has made comparisons between the sea and the stars - and his madcap analogies have made more sense to me than any astrophysical textbook.

There was no sound I wanted to hear more than Gordon's voice. I willed it to ring out over the comms link, but it was no use. Still nothing.

_"Gordon?"_ I repeated.

My cool, detached façade came crashing down around me with that one word. A thousand questions filled my brain and clogged the back of my throat so that I felt I couldn't breathe. Why isn't Gordon responding? Is he okay? Is he fooling around? Why would he fool around for this long? It isn't funny any more, Gordon, why aren't you answering? What's happened to you?

What did they do to my brother?

This was the exact kind of thing I was trying to avoid all along. I wanted to filter out the distress call. Out of sight - out of earshot, more accurately - out of mind. Gordon and Virgil had already lost an entire night's sleep after being forced to listen to a heady mixtape of "_Emergency! Emergency! Situation Critical!_" and "_Sailing, Sailing, Over the Bounding Main!_" for twelve hours straight. It was a robot. A heap of junk stuck at the bottom of the ocean with, no doubt, plenty more scrap metal from sunken ships, now home to nothing but sealife. Braman was fine. It wasn't real. It wasn't a person, it wasn't one of my brothers, it didn't need rescuing - just filter out the call. Let's all get some sleep. Simple enough solution, right? But no, obviously it wasn't that easy.

_"Is anybody out there? International Rescue! Please! Help me!"_

Before I had time to even open my mouth to try to make a plan of action, Gordon had leapt out of his chair with a fervent promise to rescue an inanimate object who absolutely was not waiting for him to rescue it, and gone. Typical of Gordon, so intent on saving the day he doesn't stop for too long to worry about the danger. Perhaps he leaves the worrying to me, after all, I am the communications guy. I have all the facts, figures and statistics at my fingertips. All I could do was give Gordon as much help as I could. Which is exactly what I did. He was fine. Right up until the moment when he wasn't. Right up until the moment the Chaos Crew launched an unprovoked attack on my brother and tried to blast him into oblivion.

Do you know how far away I am from Earth at any given moment? Twenty-two thousand miles. Give or take a few hundred. It takes me a couple of hours to return to Earth in the Space Elevator. It's the sort of time-frame you'd take to travel from one side of Kansas to... well. A bit further into Kansas, I guess. Although really, why would you want to? Still, the Elevator means that I'm always far enough away to not have to deal with all the noise and bustle of being in a family that includes my two younger brothers, and always close by enough to come home when I need to. I dunno who said it, but the person who said that the most important place for any traveller is home was absolutely right. Even when 'home' means you have the Terrible Two to contend with.

In that second of gut-wrenching silence, I felt every single one of those twenty-two thousand, four hundred miles like a kick in the gut.

What if he's dead?

I shook my head briskly. Gordon can't be dead. Gordon is too alive to be dead. Besides, Gordon wouldn't _dare_ die on me. Not now. Not here. Not like this. He was conscious long enough to call for help. He knew he was in danger. He was protecting himself. He's a grown man, he's an experienced aquanaut, he knows exactly what to do in these situations. God knows he has the utmost respect and love for the water - he knows the joys as well as the dangers, as well as I know the joys and dangers of space. He wouldn't put himself into danger unnecessarily, and he certainly wouldn't make sure he set off his emergency code unless he was prepared to be rescued by us.

I had to tell Scott. I couldn't take the luxury of building myself up to it, there wasn't even a half-second to lose. If Gordon had been in a smash in Thunderbird 4, then I know he would have had the foresight to put his emergency breathing apparatus on before activating his code. That meant we had exactly two hours and fifteen minutes to find him. If there had been an earthquake at the bottom of the sea, he could be buried alive down there. Two hours may not have been nearly enough time.

Scott's face blanched. I remember being so shocked, because in that single moment he looked so old. As though this was the news he'd secretly been waiting to hear for years, and now his worst fear had been realised. One of his brothers may not ever make it home. It was as though I'd dealt him a sucker punch straight to the solar plexus. He almost looked as though he was about to throw up. There I was, twenty-two thousand, four hundred miles away, unable to save my little brother and unable to comfort my eldest brother. Just sat there, a floating hologram, delivering the worst news I could ever imagine.

For the first time in my life, the stars weren't home. The stars were the very things keeping me away from my home. From my family. From everything I care about. From my annoying, loud, brash brother, with his laugh as loud and unashamed as the most thunderous of waterfalls, his shirt louder than his laugh, the sparkle in his eyes that lets you know when he's planning some dumbass prank or other. My friend. The ship's anchor that keeps us all exactly in our place, and never lets us get too serious, or too full of ourselves for a moment. Kinda sounds cheesy, I know, but it's true. You'll never understand how much I love him and want to strangle him in equal measure until you have a little brother of your own. Or two.

There was no question that I would be there when he woke up. Of course I would. All he had to do was wake up. All Scott and Alan and Virgil had to do was find him. They had to find him. They had to bring him home. Safe. He would wake up. I couldn't allow myself to travel down that dark rabbit hole in my mind and imagine the worst. That wasn't going to help anyone, least of all Gordon. The journey back to Tracy Island was the longest three hours of my life. Each second seemed to last for a minute, and all the way home I could hear the entire scene playing out over the airwaves.

_"I can have him back to the Island in less than ten minutes!"_ I heard Virgil say.

_"Virgil, no!"_ Grandma said, her tone final and definite. _"Forget about Tracy Island. You need to get that boy to a hospital. Now!"_

"Jesus Christ! Can't this fucking thing go any faster?" I growled, punching the nearest elevator wall in frustration and even jumping up and down to try and make it sink back down to Earth faster. Of course it didn't work. I didn't really expect it to. I just didn't know what else to do.

It seemed as though a week had passed by the time I actually got to see him, although it had only been a few hours. It was even worse than I had expected. His head was bandaged, his neck in a brace, an arm and a leg broken. He looked so little, so frail, lying in that hospital bed. So helpless. Like he did when he was a baby, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping soundly in his crib. That tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth still threatening, even in his sleep. Even after all he'd just been through. There was no denying it - we certainly had a badass on our hands.

His eyes slowly flickered open and he looked at me. His focus wasn't great. God knows what drugs they'd had to pump into him to keep him comfortable, but he wasn't exactly 'here' when he woke up.

"Johnny!" he said, trying to smile. His voice was hoarse from a combination of high-strength opiates and the removal of the intubation tube that had kept his airflow steady during several hours in surgery.

"Jesus, Gordon, the lengths you'll go to to get my attention. It's embarrassing," I said, my expression deadpan, folding my arms and raising an eyebrow at him. He let out a soft murmur of laughter and closed his eyes again, the effort of keeping them open far too much for him to bear.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, before falling asleep again. I chuckled.

"I know, buddy. I know," I said, squeezing his good shoulder. "Good to see you, too."

There had never been a more welcome sound to my ears than hearing Gordon snore for the first time. For what felt like the first time in forever, I finally remembered to exhale.


	2. Virgil

_**A/N:** I had intended to have written at least the next two chapters by now, but it's been something of a week at **Hargadon Towers** and I haven't had time/opportunity/energy to write so much as my own name. Apologies for unanswered reviews and PMs, I promise I will reply as soon as I can. And hopefully I'll get chance to write more frequently next week. If there's any character you'd especially like to see next, please don't forget to let me know!_

_With love to __**Teebs**__ for everything - always; endless gratitude to __**CreativeGirl26**__ for her awesome reviews; and the biggest hug I can manage to the lovely __**JoTracy123**__, who has helped me with this one more than I can tell you._

**Virgil**

_"Emergency! Emergency! Situation Cri-ti-cal!"_

I swear to god I will never be able to unhear those words. I bet even when I'm ninety, every time I close my eyes all I'll hear is Braman on repeat.

Part of me can't help but feel a little responsible for what happened. I know it isn't logical, I know it's a typical artist 'surely the world revolves around me!' reaction, I know it isn't my fault. It's the Chaos Crew, it's The Hood. They're to blame for what happened to Gordon. That doesn't change the fact that neither the Chaos Crew nor The Hood were the ones who let their little brother rush off into danger headfirst, all guns blazing, just because I'd put the idea into his head that Braman was feeling all sad and lonely at the bottom of the sea.

Surely he knew I was kidding? He must have known I was kidding, right? Even Brains said that Braman wasn't in any danger. Gordon and I always know which buttons to press to grind each other's gears, our entire lives are spent teasing and joking with each other. There again, I do have a tendency to function on a level of sarcasm so subtle that I don't always know when I'm being serious, especially on minimal sleep and minimal caffiene. Gordon was overtired, and still visibly cringing with embarrassment from his encounter with a polecat at Creighton-Ward Mansion the previous day, so it made sense he'd be overzealous and would want to do everything he could to make things right when a rescue call came in. Even so, it wouldn't have killed him to hang fire for five minutes for us to come up with a plan of action before he left.

It wouldn't have killed him to wait, and I have no idea how he survived what happened to him. That kid has more lives than a cat.

I guess from the outside looking in, the way International Rescue is operated is a carefully orchestrated affair, with each of us guys taking on very specific roles that we have spent our entire careers specialising in and training for. That's only partly true. In fact, International Rescue only functions the way it does because it mirrors our family dynamic so neatly. We fit into our respective roles so easily, not because it's our job, but because it's who we are. Scott is the undisputed leader because he's the eldest and the one who has always been there for the rest of us, steadfastly, without question, unconditionally, ready to do whatever he can to fix any problem. He and I have been partners in crime since - forever, I guess. I can't remember a time in my life that I haven't thought of Scott as being the best friend I've ever had. Thunderbirds One and Two work so well together on missions because Scott and I know exactly what makes each other tick, how we would respond to given situations, and instinctively we know what we need to do to support each other best. It's more than a bond, it's practically a psychic link.

John has always been too cool for us, which has proved to be a constant source of joke ammunition for all three of us. There's no lack of love, just a change in dynamic. Scott and I have been inseparable since I was born, and John was always happiest with his own company. His best friend has always been himself, and he is unapologetic about that. John was always the one most likely to have his head stuck in a book or to have a telescope in front of his eye, always fastidious over the way he looked, how neat his clothes were, how tidy his hair was. Y'know, I don't think I've ever seen John with so much as a rogue splash of spaghetti sauce on his cheek - he's like Teflon. He's always a little aloof, always poised and cool on the outside despite the most trying of circumstances. Thunderbird Five only serves as the communications hub as well as it does because it has a guy in charge who will unfailingly keep his head when all about him is going to hell in a handbasket. John speaks with an air of assurance that makes you believe he is in full control of any situation, and I'm in no doubt that his level-headed, rational manner in response to calls for help has been the difference between success and failure in our missions. Keeping the rescuees calm, and even getting them to help themselves when the situation allows, is better than having an extra pair of hands during the rescue itself.

Then when the youngest two came along, the dynamic shifted again. Alan always clung to Scott like a limpet. Scott could barely even go to the bathroom without Alan following him. Everything Scott did, Alan wanted to do. Both were absolute speed demons, obsessed with fast bikes, fast rollerskates, fast cars, fast planes, fast food, fast everything. Scott bought a new pair of shades, he had to buy an extra one because Alan would only want a pair of his own to be just like Scott. Scott had a leather jacket, Alan wanted one too. All Alan has ever really wanted is to be Scott Tracy when he grows up. I can't think of a better man to aspire to be, and who knows if he'll ever make it. I hope he does. Scott and Alan working together on space missions in Thunderbird Three is a perfect arrangement, they're both hot-headed and impulsive, both unafraid of making snap decisions when they need to - but Alan knows that Scott is in charge, and Scott knows that Alan always wants to impress his big brother.

If Alan is Team Scott, then Gordon is Team Virgil. He would never crowd me quite as much as Alan would crowd Scott, but every time I sat down to draw, within ten or fifteen minutes, Gordon would casually stroll into my room with a colouring book and crayons. Then he'd sit opposite me and start colouring in, valiantly trying to keep within the lines and always failing miserably. I can still see him in my mind's eye, aged five, sitting cross-legged on the floor and colouring in a big octopus using all his favourite colours - blue, green, orange, yellow, purple and pink - his face screwed up with concentration, his tongue jutting out between his clamped-shut lips. He didn't really have any interest in art, but he didn't want me to have to do anything on my own either, and was always happy to join in. Every time I played anything on the piano, Gordon would always somehow magically appear and start making up silly dances to whatever I played. Even now, if I start doing any exercise in the gym, he'll get me to do push-ups with him sitting on my back and he thinks it's the coolest, funniest thing on earth. We're physically polar opposites, he's a short blond guy with a personality as bright as the sun, and I'm a tall dark guy who is a lot more shy and laid-back, but we have very much the same sense of humour. Even if his is more outrageous than mine. It means that working together as co-pilots in Thunderbird Two is always a lot of fun, and, more than any other combination of us brothers, we can say things to each other that nobody else would get away with. That makes coordinating rescues together much less stressful. We can be blunt and direct with each other, but we know the most important thing is the rescue, and not our feelings - and no matter what, we can make each other laugh without saying a word. Obviously I'd never tell him this, but it sometimes feels weird to be in Thunderbird Two without him.

What the hell would I have done if anything had happened to my wing-man?

I couldn't bring myself to see him at first. In fact, I was the last of the four of us to finally summon the courage to see him. After hearing Scott say, _"Ugh, this is a LOT worse than I thought!"_ my imagination whirred into overdrive. If a situation was worse than anything Scott could imagine, all I could think was that Gordon had been pulverised under the rocks. The silence as I waited for confirmation that Penelope had pulled Gordon from Thunderbird Four seemed endless, and it was only when I finally heard her shout, _"I have him!"_ that I let out the breath I didn't realise I'd been holding. Stupidly wanting to believe that there was nothing wrong with Gordon that a few days' bed rest and a couple aspirin wouldn't cure, I decided to set course for Tracy Island. We were only ten minutes away from home.

_"Virgil, no!"_ Grandma shouted. Of course, she was right. As soon as she said my name, it hit me. Gordon might not survive. Even if he did survive, we had no way of knowing how permanent any of his injuries were. What if the Gordon that raced into action less than an hour ago wasn't the Gordon that would come home? What if that Gordon was gone forever? I felt sick to the pit of my stomach. Even the idea that Gordon had played his last prank was too much for me to bear.

I made so many excuses not to see Gordon. I needed to stay with Thunderbird Two. There was nowhere I could leave her. The chairs in the waiting room were too uncomfortable. I didn't want to crowd the bed. Alan and Penelope were practically glued to the side of his bed and the hospital rules were only three to the bed at a time. I needed to get some air, I'd see Gordon later. John's just arrived all the way from Thunderbird Five, he needs to spend some time with Gordon before I do. Scott looked at me, tilting his chin slightly and furrowing his brow suspiciously. I made more lame excuses and went outside. Less than five minutes later, Scott had found me.

"What is it?"

"What makes you think it's something?" I asked. Scott raised an eyebrow.

"Don't let's play that game, we've both had too much of a shitty day."

I nodded in agreement and looked away before speaking, ashamed of how selfish I sounded. "I can't see him. I just can't. I can't take seeing him in pain."

"He's not in any pain," Scott said, with a reassuring smile. "He's also not exactly on planet Earth right now, but morphine'll do that to a guy." We both let out a breath of rueful laughter at his joke. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you gotta front this out. Gordon needs you."

"He doesn't need me," I said, shaking my head.

"Are you kidding? Are we gonna pretend like you aren't his favourite?" Scott asked, dryly. Despite myself, I grinned.

"I guess you've either got it or you haven't. We can't all be Evel Knievel like you and Alan." Scott laughed and shook his head.

"That's true," he said. "Listen I'm gonna try and get the others to go grab a bite to eat. We'll be about a half-hour. Gordon probably won't even be awake," he said, clapping his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly. "Just go say hi. He's gonna be fine, Virge. I promise."

I watched Scott walk back into the hospital and spent the following ten minutes coming up with a million different reasons as to why I couldn't possibly see Gordon yet. None of them really made any sense, so I made my way to his hospital room. Scott had been true to his word and finally managed to prise everyone else away from Gordon's bed, so he was alone. To my surprise, he was also wide awake.

"Hey buddy," I said, a little confused by the fact he wasn't actually at death's door, when my imagination had quite clearly told me he was at least missing a limb and possibly also an eye. I think my brain had decided that Gordon was now destined to become a pirate.

"Thought you were avoiding me" he said, licking his dry lips and swallowing with difficulty. There was a glass of water with a straw on the table next to the bed, so I picked it up and held it to his lips so he could take a drink.

"Maybe I was. How're you feeling?"

"Pretty shit," he said. "Tired."

"I guess worse things happen at sea, right?" I asked. I couldn't even pretend to wipe the smug grin off my face. Gordon let out a groan and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Too soon, bro! Too soon!"

I laughed and mussed his hair solely to annoy him, then sat next to his bed and listened to him trying to make incoherent conversation until sleep overtook him again. I never really needed to worry about Gordon surviving the crash. Gordon is too damn stubborn to die. The only people who really need to worry are the Chaos Crew and The Hood when Gordon recovers and they find themselves facing the wrath of all five of the Tracy brothers together...


	3. Scott

_**A/N:** Y'know, a little voice in my brain kept telling me it was a bad idea to attempt a multi-chapter... I've had the most horrendous week in quite some time, partly health related and partly devastating personal news related. But I swear to God before this section of Series 3 of **TAG** comes to an end I will have written the heck out of these next four chapters. Yup. EVEN **Alan**. I know, right._

_With all my love to my gorgeous **Scott's Sirens**; **Teebs, BowEcho** and **SweetChristabel**. The Triumvirate of Dreams._

**Scott**

I swear to god, I take ten minutes to get a shower and all hell breaks loose.

It wasn't as though I hadn't already had a hell of a day directly because of Braman in the first place. Nearly getting sliced to smithereens by space dust - twice. Him frightening the living shit out of me by creeping about in the darkness and then jumping out at me with his _"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!_" monologue. How does a robot even manage to sneak around like that, did Brains build him with a mute button for his legs or something? Then the stress of trying to reason with a robot who, up until that moment, had only one sentence and one song lyric in his speech repertoire. The agonising wait after Braman had agreed to steer The Calypso into a crash landing over the ocean so as not to kill hundreds, or even thousands of innocent civilians, in case he didn't actually do the one thing we'd asked of him. Let's not even get into Gordon taking Thunderbird One on a joyride just to impress a girl. A hell of a girl, admittedly, who would no doubt kick my ass for not referring to her as a woman, but you get the idea.

Don't worry, I stupidly thought to myself. Just go take a break, get a shower, get that space dust off of yourself, get a cup of coffee. Surely nothing can happen in ten minutes.

After twenty-two years, why do I still never remember to account for the Gordon Factor?

I walked into the kitchen and poured a coffee into my favourite chipped mug, the one Virgil had bought for my eighteenth birthday that says 'I'm a Bitch Before Coffee', and of course Gordon had soon seized the opportunity to scribble 'Before Coffee' out with a Sharpie. It still makes me chuckle, all these years later.

"Where's Gordon?" I asked, looking around.

"You didn't hear?" Virgil asked, surprised. I frowned and shook my head.

"Hear what? I've just got out the shower."

"You just missed him. Braman sent an SOS."

"No shit, he's been sending that for the last twenty four hours."

"No, a real one, for International Rescue."

"You're kidding?"

"Sure, this is my kidding face," Virgil said, dryly.

"And you just let him go?"

"Few things to bear in mind here, Scotty," Virgil said, taking a noisy sip of coffee. I braced myself. When he busts out the much-hated Y at the end of my name, I know he's about to have a full-on sense of humour failure. "One, have you ever tried talking Gordon out of anything? Two, last I checked, the eldest is in charge. That's you, buddy. Three, by the time anyone got chance to tell Gordon to hang on for ten minutes, he'd already gone. Who's bright idea was it for Thunderbird Four to have its own launch sequence anyway?"

"M-mine," Brains chipped in. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

"Great, it was the guy who decided to give Braman a voice."

Before Brains had chance to respond, John briefly patched us in to the communication between Thunderbirds Five and Four.

"_I don't think they saw me_," Gordon whispered, sounding a little rattled. Before he had even finished his sentence, my Smother Hen Sense had started tingling. My brother was at the bottom of the sea on a salvage mission, nothing more. Dad would never have even authorised that. I can almost hear him now. _"What goes on here! International Rescue was developed for cases of dire emergency where human life is in danger, not for joyrides and treasure trails! Get your ass back to base before I finish counting down from five, Gordon!" _More than ever, I wished he was here right now to take over. Something deep in my gut told me we needed him.

"_The interference down there could work to your advantage. You're pretty much invisible to the Chaos Crew._" John said, saying the words 'Chaos Crew' as lightly as he could to soften the blow he knew would hit me with full force.

"_Let's hope it stays that way,_" Gordon said, softly.

Gordon was on a salvage mission and he was about to be caught by The Hood and the Chaos Crew, who would do anything to get their hands on our technology? Great. Because nothing says "Lazy Sunday" like your little brother being in mortal danger from your family's arch nemesis.

I headed straight to Alan's room to wake him up and was met with a grunt and a shifting of bedclothes as he rolled over.

"You try, Virge, will ya?" I asked. Virgil grabbed the door handle and rattled the door in its hinges until the floor shook. We listened for a response and all we heard was a snore. I burst into his room and yelled at him to wake up, even breaking out a couple of the big swears for shock value, but Alan just mumbled a big swear of his own and continued sleeping. I rolled my eyes and gave up. I had more pressing things to worry about.

Virgil, Brains and I were in the middle of discussing a plan of action with Gordon, which was basically Gordon and Brains tag-teaming against Virgil and I. We wanted Gordon to stay where he was and come home as soon as it was safe, and Gordon and Brains were both convinced for some unknown reason that retrieving Braman was the most important thing of all. When Alan finally showed up asking what was going on, I no longer had the patience to be polite about it.

_"Why didn't anyone wake me?"_

_"We tried. Three times."_

The four way conversation continued until finally, Gordon and Brains won out against us. I had such a bad feeling about this. My entire internal monologue was, in fact, Han Solo saying "I gotta bad feeling about this" on repeat. There was one moment of relief when Gordon declared "_Got you!_" triumphantly, but that was instantly taken away when Braman started singing "_Sai-ling, sai-ling, over the boun-ding main!_" only to be interrupted by Gordon's panicked cry of, "_No no no no **NO**!_"

The airwaves suddenly went dead. John had briefly cut our communications which, in hindsight, I was grateful for. I don't think I could have coped with hearing what happened, as it happened. Instead, I spent the following two minutes imagining every worst case scenario possible. Those two minutes seemed to last for two hours.

Eventually, John's holo hovered above the table. His face was ashen and I knew immediately that something terrible had happened.

"What is it?" I demanded. If I had had a waist-height desk to pound my fist into at that moment, I would've done it.

"Gordon activated his emergency code," John said, his voice sounding strangely small and lost for a moment before he swallowed hard and visibly willed himself back into the moment. "I'm getting no response. You need to go get him. Right now."

I don't know if I answered John. I don't know what happened at first. I don't remember. My head immediately processed John's words as confirmation that Gordon was dead. Of course, the logical side of my brain quickly took over and I realised that 'go get him' didn't mean 'go collect his remains', but it was too late by then. The sheer force of the thought took my breath away. I felt my knees buckle as the weight of the situation hit me full force, and then Virgil's hand reached out and grabbed my shoulder to steady me. Of course he did. That was Virgil all over. The calm, steadying force of nature that always seems to know exactly what to say or do when I need someone to say or do something most. I've lost count of the days I would never have gotten myself through if it hadn't been for Virgil dragging me through them with nothing more than a perfectly-timed glance and nod. He did it again today. I was so close to losing my shit altogether and he refused to let me. Before taking off in Thunderbird Two, he looked at me, narrowed his eyes and nodded. It was not a 'you got this' nod by any means. It was a 'you better damn well get this because we need you to be Scott the Leader, not Scott the Big Brother right now' nod, and I understood instantly. He's always joking about a psychic link but sometimes I don't think he's far wrong.

Whatever message Virgil had sent via his meaningful glare, it worked. Somehow, from somewhere, I mustered up the strength to shift straight into International Rescue Mode. We needed help, all the help we could get. I told Grandma to contact Lady Penelope and fill her in on the details, and tell her to get over here as soon as possible. Part of me felt bad that we had to ask Penelope to help quite as much as she did, knowing you could cut the tension between her and Gordon with an axe. The fact was, though, we needed her, and perhaps her feelings for Gordon would be enough of a motivating factor for her to do all she could to get him home. It was a chance I was willing to take, at any rate - and luckily for everyone, it was a chance that paid off.

There was very little communication involved in the rescue. There wasn't time. When I saw the extent of Gordon's accident I knew we only had minutes to get him to safety. Especially with Grandma's confirmation that his pulse was there but weak. The only way to go about it was to save Gordon at the expense of Thunderbird Four. She can be replaced. Gordon? Not so much. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like Gordon. I've never known anyone go from prize goofball to Last Action Hero in less than the blink of an eye. I've never known anyone have the ability to make me want to strangle them and laugh until I ached all at the same time. No. We weren't gonna lose Gordon. Not today. Not if I had anything to do with it.

I don't think I allowed myself to believe he was going to be all right until I heard Penelope shouting "_I have him!_" It was a funny choice of words, to me. Maybe it's the English English rather than American English. 'Have' sounds a lot more permanent than 'got' to me. Seeing the way she remained steadfastly at his side, stroking his hair as I used the medical scan to find out how bad his injuries really were - she has him all right. If only he'd been awake to appreciate it. Probably best that he wasn't, actually, we wouldn't have heard the end of it for weeks.

We finally got to the hospital and waited for Gordon's injuries to be tended to. Penelope almost walked a trench through the middle of the corridor. Virgil used every excuse he could think of to be anywhere but here, and I didn't blame him. He and Gordon had always had a special connection, and the idea of seeing him in such a state - it was a lot to deal with. Alan did what he always did, waited for me to react and then do the same thing. He'd started growing out of that by now, but when he was thrown into a situation he wasn't prepared for and was too big for him, he looked to me to learn how to face it. Hell knows I didn't know what to do either, I'd never been that close to losing one of my brothers before, this was a whole new world to me that I definitely never want to revisit. So I did what I always do when I don't know how to react. Try and figure out what Dad would do. So Alan and I went to get everyone coffee.

"You okay?" I asked, handing him a cup. He nodded and took a sip. "It's okay if you aren't, y'know," I said, making sure he looked at me as I spoke to him so he knew I was being serious. "Today was... it was big."

"Yeah," he said, flashing a brave smile. "I'm okay now Gordon's safe. He'll be okay, right?"

"Sure he will! He'll be back home driving us crazy before we've even had time to miss him," I said, clapping him on the shoulder comfortingly. Alan chuckled.

"Yeah, he'll be making the most of being laid up, I guess," he said. My eyes widened. I hadn't thought of that.

By the time John and Kayo arrived, Gordon had come round and was already making jokes. As Kayo said, "_At least you didn't break your sense of humour!_" I don't think that's ever in danger. If anything, that offbeat, devil-may-care, crazy, screw you bitch mentality that Gordon was famous for was probably the thing that had kept him alive. If the idea of Penelope mopping his fevered brow didn't keep him hanging on to life, the thought of what would happen to The Hood and the Chaos Crew when the five of us finally got hold of them sure as hell would have. I can tell them one thing for free - I wouldn't want to be in their shoes when Gordon meets them for Round Two.

On the way out, we passed a vending machine filled with his favourite candy bars. I told the others I'd catch up with them, and bought one for him.

"Knock knock!" I called as I tapped the candy bar on the door and walked into the room. "You did say to bring snacks," I reminded him. He smiled.

"I guess you're here to tell me Thunderbird Four is dead and I shouldn't have gone on a mission without waiting to make a plan first, right?" he asked. I shook my head and ruffled his hair.

"That'll wait."

"Oh shit, it's the Thunderbird One thing isn't it? I said I'm sorry!"

"Gordon," I said, patting his good shoulder softly. "It's just a candy bar. I'm just your big brother. No matter what we do, or how old we get, that's not gonna change. I'm always gonna come save your ass when you get in trouble."

"Be fair, Scott, I got a pretty cute ass. It's worth saving."

"I've seen better."

"Kayo doesn't count, she's a girl," he said. I grinned and shook my head. Kayo was right, there was no breaking that sense of humour.

"You get some rest. I'll be back later," I promised. "If I can prise Penelope away from your bed."

"Don't you dare!" he insisted, holding his right index finger up sternly. I chuckled, left the candy bar next to his bed and went to join the others. Kayo held back and slipped her hand through my arm as we walked.

"You did great today, Scott. Your Dad would've been proud," she said. She wasn't one for undeserved compliments and she certainly wasn't one for random displays of affection. Maybe the day had shaken her more than she'd care to let on. I smiled and pressed my elbow into my side, squeezing her hand. The day was over, I still had all the brothers left that I had started with, and now the most beautiful woman on the whole of Tracy Island on my arm. Things were definitely looking up.


End file.
